The Poet

The Poet

Friday, February 3, 2017

Cupid’s Arrows and Slavery’s Chains: February 3, 2017 By Ronald S Porter ©2017

Hello Poetry Lovers,

I’m glad to be back; I’m Glad you are here too. Well, it’s February and almost Saint Valentine Day. So; I put some love poems, of sorts, in this posting. Also, February is “Black History Month” in the USA (notice, we got the shortest month). Now I could say “So, I’m gonna get Black on yo ass”. However, i never “get” Black. I am always Black. Got that? Good. What I did do was include some poems relating to living as a Black person in this society. And I used two of my favorite themes of Black verbal expression.

Several of the poems are written in the Biblical Style of the Old Testament. That’s because Black preachers have done much to influence the poetic linguistic style of the  American Black community; the Black pulpit has always been a showcase of eloquent imagery and, magnificent rhetorical flourish. Also most of the major figures in the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and ‘60s were Black preachers, bishops and ministers. I also used a lot of rhyme. Rhyme has traditionally taken center stage in African American speech, from the neighborhood playground to the halls of Congress to the Presidential campaign trail. so to all the literary snobs who decry the use of rhyme, in poetry, as simplistic and primitive: kiss my ass I don’t tell white folks how to talk.

Okay, remember to check out the other three pages, especially the guest poets on page 2. Lets get to it. Enjoy.
Humbly, Ron porter

An Evil Wind Blows... A Dodoitsu by Ron Porter ©2017

I walk at night, dejected.
Love loss pain does fill my heart.
I just shit my pants; I thought
I only had to fart.

Why, Oh Why? Ronald S Porter ©2017

Oh! hot finger tips, hips and lips;
Cinnamon candy and, honey drips
Oh woman tell me- why, oh why
For what reason does this man find
the female so pleasing to the eye
Yet, so disconcerting to the mind?

Just A Little Bit Of Nothing by Ron Porter ©2017

No musical strains and, no dance floor,
Pains of long ago, linger at the door;
I walk in rains on the sandy lake shore.
Memory stains cling to my core;
My poor brain is weary and sore.
And, like thunder echos in the night-
In love’s reins, I hear anguish roar.

Just Don’t Cooperate Fool by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Racism is the root of my ills, I hear it said.
You say, the white man, keeps you down
All I can do is sigh and shake my head.
You got to learn to turn that thinking around.

Nobody strips my my dignity or my pride.
Listen close to everything I’m telling you.
I know that laws that are on my side;
Believe me I know just what i have to do.

You say a racism system holds you back.
Let me help you identify to your error.
If you want to see your oppressor, jack;
Take a good hard look into your mirror.

War was waged for my liberty in this land;
Too many fought, too hard and, too long
For me to ever not take a strong stand,and
I cover every inch of ground I stand upon.

I don’t care about bigots’ attitudes, you see;
Nor give a shit about hearts filled with hate.
The only way anybody can tread on me
Is if I lay down at their feet and cooperate.

“Was Gonnas” Don’t Get It by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Once I had me a Dracula moon, a
long black coat and, a faded red car
Wrapped up in magic and lightning,
Oh how we danced the fury frenzy.
I don’t remember the steps anymore
So, I retired from the dancing floor.

Past love all fell in smoldering ashes;
Angels versus demons- nobody won.
Once addicted to mania and mayhem,
Now, I’m hooked on nothing at all;
The game is over, the deal is done;
In the night I can hear the voices call.

The monkey sits on a rat, that rides a snake.
Fears and tears once flew like a blizzard
To change things now, would take a wizard;
I am only a man, I turn and just walk away.

Sa’tidday Night In Nigga Town by Ronald S Porte ©2017 (apologies to Laurence Dunbar)

Bug-eyed boogie boys practicin’on they horns;
Gran’pa got a razor blade - shaving his corns.
Pig foot smell floating in da air;
Auntie in da kitchin burnin’ her hair.
Brother man messin roun wit da deacon’s wife
Royal Crown fo clowns; I'se wit Spo’tin Waves,
Going out to injoy sum spo’tin life.

All the slangers, singers en big dick slingers,
Go pimpin on down to da Black n Tan.
Got ta get muh right fo Sa’tiddy night,
Gone go meet dat reet ol reefer man
Wit a dollah en a dime en muh hand.
All the slick chicks done grab dey beaus
And the sharp cats all got hole uh dey hos
After midnight chil, ever thang goes!
Lawd ha murcy we’ll be thowin it on down,
Cos its Sa’tiddy nite en Nigga town.

We gone do the Hi-Dee-Hi, Buck en Wang
We gone Shim-Sham Shimmy shake
Ever body will be muggin en a’buggin;
Snuggling en hugging til daylite break.
Drinkin wine n gin, we gone hi-side and sin;
Come on bahtender, set up a nuther round!
Den we’ll all sleep thu da Sunday sermon agin.
Afta a jumpin Sa’tiddy nite down in Nigga town

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Nothing But The Blues by Ronald S Porter ©2017

I ain't got nothin' but the blues.
My car isn't running.
It's been six years of so since a taste of honey;
It am not funnin' you, I'm all out of money.
It's no joke, I just sit home, stroke and smoke
 and I'm running low on cigarettes. 
Loaded with debt;- I can't cover bets.

Wondering why I have no membership card,
'cause though I never get the club's newsletter,
I keep on paying the dues. I got no place to go
but, a lot of cool shoes. Otherwise life is hard
And I ain't got nothin' but the blues.

So I am caught between Charybdis and Scylla!
I wrote the preceding line in deference
to all the smart ass, snobby, critics who say 
True Poetry must include a literary reference

Freed At Last? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

We never fled across desert, yet
wandered a hostile desolate land.
We moved no stone to erect 
monuments to tower o'er hot sand.
Yet, we poured sweat, tears and blood
into black earth from sun to sun,
never to prosper from crops grown.
We had no names; we owned no field;
not one thing to call our own.
Oh! Pharoah's army ne'er pursued, 

When word came Let My people go!
There was no home to return to, so
we lingered in that hostile place;
life was hard, the people mean.
Gone were the old cold iron chains;
replaced by shackles of links unseen
Still we cry, we sweat we bleed.
And the very ones who parented our pain
ask what have you for which to complain?

Captured: A Love Poem? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

you read the secret of my dreams
you took my love for ransom
you chained my heart to your own
so that i would not make escape
ah! too late you saw your mistake
for in binding me to you
you made your self a captive too
oh sweet captivity!

two prisoners now locked in tandem
captured warriors in war called love
chained and bound yet not enslaved
neither do i seek to be set free
two hearts enlocked myself and thee
my only desire now is to be
for always held your captive. you
who read the secret of my dreams

Bow Bown King Nebuchadnezzar, Bow Down by Ron Porter ©2017

To my own self I set to erect an idol,
that I would construct of solid gold.
Consider, I halt twixt divine and profane.
Nor am I set perfectly between;
Thus I do not achieve the golden mean.
My construction would have been vain.
Neither could I match the golden section,
For I have two feet of clay.
So, I forsook my statue's erection;
I gave up the grand construction.
Discerning the folly of my endeavor.
I sat at The Master's feet, for instruction
Such shall I seek always and, for ever.

Psalm 152 by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Oh ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.
From the valley of suffering and lack;
From vales of death-like drug addiction;
Low places obscured by mountains;
Mountains of ignorance, poverty and despair.
Come now,  dry bones, assemble together!
Flesh torn from bodies, by switches and whips.
Chaffed by shackles and hangmen's noose;
Ripped away by persecution,and trial.
Now I will knit back on your frames.
I shall cover restored flesh, wrap it in skin;
Dark skin reminiscent of African nights.
The wind I shall send to breathe for you;
Breath of The Spirit, I put in you!
Be once more, a living people.
Hear the word, now, of The Lord
Ye Dry bones, O! Live again.
Remember My love, children, and prosper.
Call my name my people, and rejoice.